Life Is A Crucible. We Are Thrown

The Worst Effect Of Sin Is Within And Is Manifest Not In Poverty, And Pain, And Bodily Defacement, But In The Discrowned Faculties, The Unworthy Love, The Low Ideal, The Brutalized And Enslaved Spirit.

Patriotism! It Is Used To Define So Many Diversities, To Justify So Many Wrongs, To Compass So Many Ends, That Its Life Is Killed Out; It Becomes A Dead Word In The Vocabulary-a Blank Counter, To Be Moved To Any Part Of The Game; And That Flag Which, Streaming From The Mast-head Of Our Ship Of State, Striped With Martyr-blood, And Glistening With The Stars Of Lofty Promise, Should Always Indicate Our Worldwide Mission, And The Glorious Destinies That We Carry Forward, Is Bandied About In Every Selfish Skirmish, And Held Up As The Symbol Of Every Political Privateer.

Physically, Man Is But An Atom In Space, And A Pulsation In Time. Spiritually, The Entire Outward Universe Receives Significance From Him, And The Scope Of His Existence Stretches Beyond The Stars.

The City An Epitome Of The Social World. All The Belts Of Civilization Intersect Along Its Avenues. It Contains The Products Of Every Moral Zone. It Is Cosmopolitan, Not Only In A National, But A Spiritual Sense.

There Is No Doubt Of The Essential Nobility Of That Man Who Pours Into Life The Honest Vigor Of His Toil, Over Those Who Compose The Feathery Foam Of Fashion That Sweeps Along Broadway; Who Consider The Insignia Of Honor To Consist In Wealth And Indolence; And Who, Ignoring The Family History, Paint Coats Of Arms To Cover Up The Leather Aprons Of Their Grandfathers.